A Good Cup of Tea
by starshards
Summary: Arthur hesitated for a moment. ‘The snow,’ he said, ‘it always makes me think of you.’ Canada/ England; sheer fluffiness


So yeah, I'm English and I have an unabashed adoration for what really should be the relationship between Canada and England.

I warn you- it's sappy.

* * *

Arthur was a creature of habit. He liked to pretend that he wasn't when idiots like Alfred and Francis called him things like '_boring old fart'_, but really, at heart, there was little that Arthur liked more than routine. It made him feel safe. He knew that when the world was falling down around him, he would have his neat, ordered little life keeping his mind sharp and his control sharper. It sounded dull, but when one grew up in a place as turbulent as Europe, well… you did everything that you could to survive. Besides, the glory days of his youth were over and he was tired of running headlong into war after war. He'd proven himself, his former colonies were all looking after themselves, and Europe was finally at peace. He was still strong enough (not as much as he used to be, admittedly, but he was strong _enough_) in body and in mind to hold his own when it was needed. For now though, as Europe struggled through the recession, he spent lazy days fighting off his own bout of sniffles by spending time by the fire, drinking Twinings tea, and reading a good book.

That was why, when someone rang the bell, on one snowy, dull, _cold_ evening in late November, Arthur glowered long and hard in the general direction of the front door for over a minute before he finally heaved himself out of his favourite armchair (a recent gift from Sweden) and stomped over towards the door.

Fixing the best scowl he could muster on his face, he gripped the handle and tore the door open with a '_what?'_ that sounded almost like a snarl.

The sound died in his throat when he realised that it was Matthew who was standing at his door, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

'Uh, hi,' he said with a strange sort of half- wave.

The frown melted from Arthur's face, though he still looked rather perplexed. A visit from Matthew was unusual. Not unwelcome in the _slightest_ but still unusual. Ever since the Suez fiasco, Arthur had got the impression that Matthew had lost quite a lot of respect for him, which had hurt him rather deeply if he was honest. Of course, he'd never _dream_ of telling the boy that (or anyone else for that matter), but he _did_ miss the frequency of his visits. The Queen didn't mean much to either of them any more, so the commonwealth between them didn't really give him a plausible enough reason to invite the younger man over. In all, Matthew's visits were usually limited to ceremony, or trade talks with the EU.

Arthur suddenly felt strangely lonely.

'Uh, Arthur?' Matthew interrupted. 'If you're busy I can… leave.'

The almost disappointed note in his voice snapped Arthur out of his revere, causing the elder to literally shake his head to clear it. 'What? No!' he hurriedly replied. He refrained from adding "_Never too busy for you"_ for fear of sounding like a doddery old fool. 'I'm sorry, Matthew. I've got the vilest head cold and it's making me a complete scatterbrain.'

'Oh,' the Canadian responded, looking relieved. He shifted slightly.

Realising that he'd left the poor boy standing outside for ages, Arthur quickly retreated from the doorway. 'God, my manners are appalling! Come in. It's bloody freezing out there,' he insisted, gesturing for Matthew to do just that.

'It's really _not_,' the Canadian muttered. 'Thank you,' he said in a louder voice once he had stepped past the elder and into the hallway.

Arthur smiled to himself silently, and closed the door behind them. He regarded the other for a moment, before he moved off through the hallway, heading back towards the sitting room. He invited Matthew to enter with an inclination of his head, which he did, choosing the chair that Arthur had only recently vacated.

He turned to the elder with a smile that flickered a moment later when he realised that the chair was warm. 'Oh, I'm sorry, were you sitting here?'

Arthur waved a hand dismissively. 'Tea?' he asked.

The other blond smiled. _Some things never change…_ 'Yes please.'

He watched as the elder ducked out of the room and walked off, presumably to make him a cup of tea. Relaxing slightly, he allowed his eyes to drift around the room, noting the various decorations; centuries old figurines and contemporary models standing alongside one another, oddly complimentary, rather than clashing. He picked up the discarded book lying on the arm of the chair, and smiled when he saw that it was "Beowulf". He remembered Arthur telling him that story countless times when he was young, pride glittering in his eyes as he reminded him for the umpteenth time that it was an extraordinary piece of Anglo-Saxon literature. Back then, he hadn't really known what the elder had meant, but it had seemed important to him, and so, Matthew had decided to make it desperately important to _him_ too.

The warm, nostalgic feeling within his chest burst like a bubble, leaving him strangely cold. Why had he even come here? He wasn't a child anymore, and coming here like this wouldn't do anything to alleviate his secret fear that Arthur _still_ didn't look upon him as a respectable peer.

Matthew was doing an extremely good job of convincing himself that he should quietly get up, apologise for interrupting and go home when Arthur walked back in, smiling happily and holding a mug in hand.

'Here you go,' he said, offering the mug handle- first. Matthew noticed that it had little polar bears on.

He watched as Arthur moved over to the fireplace and picked up the poker to stoke the fire. The elder was still smiling when he settled himself on the ancient looking leather armchair opposite Matthew.

It struck him as strange. Arthur rarely smiled at Alfred, and towards everyone else he tended to range between a haughty grin, to an arrogant smirk. Yet to him, Arthur seemed to direct these unusual, soft sort of smiles. For years Matthew had scrutinised those smiles, trying to find some kind of pity or ridicule behind them, but he always came away feeling somehow cheated that he had yet to find it.

Alfred was the favourite. He stood out far more than he did, but sometimes… Matthew sighed, chiding himself for letting himself read too deeply into everything, as usual. Arthur was just being courteous. He probably didn't feel close, or comfortable enough with Matthew to show how he was really feeling. Alfred always meant so much more.

'Matthew, is everything alright?' Arthur was frowning at him, looking concerned.

Why hadn't he left by now? Now Arthur was looking worriedly at him, and it made him feel all weirdly needy and-

'How's the recession going for you?' he blurted out.

Arthur winced. 'Eh, not so good really. Everything's a bit of a mess at the moment and if I'm honest, I feel awful.'

Matthew appraised him then, noticing for the first time the pink tinge to the other's usually pale cheeks, and the dark circles under his eyes.

'Ah,' was all he could come up with as a reply.

'I'll bounce back though,' Arthur waved his hand. 'I always do.'

Matthew was silent for several moments.

'I had elections recently.' The words were out before he could stop them. He winced, annoyed at how much he had failed at trying to sound casual about it.

Arthur blinked, confused at the sudden change in the direction of their conversation. 'I know you did…'

'You did?' Matthew seemed genuinely surprised at that.

'Of course,' Arthur frowned. 'Why would you think for a second that I wouldn't know?'

'Ah,' he felt his face grow hot. 'Well it's just that… when I was here for the memorial service on the eleventh, you didn't mention it, and…' he trailed off, feeling ashamed. He sounded like a spoilt brat. 'Never mind,' he ran a hand through his hair, cursing inwardly as his fingers caught on the rogue strand of hair that he never seemed to be able to tame. 'Obama's election was the big news by that point. Good for Alfred.' _Always Alfred._

Arthur regarded the younger blond silently for a long moment, confused as to why he seemed so agitated all of a sudden. 'It was,' he agreed. 'A great historical moment.' Matthew's heart sank, inexplicably. 'But that doesn't mean that yours weren't important too,' the Englishman added.

'Sure,' Matthew nodded, but his conviction did not reach his voice.

'No, really,' Arthur said. 'I'm pleased that Harper won. I like him.'

Matthew could guess the reason why, and for some reason it brought a small smile to his face. 'Because he sounds less French than the other two?'

Arthur had the grace to blush. 'What? No, of course not,' he spluttered. Matthew chuckled softly as the elder continued to blush and pointedly look away.

The drifted into silence, both unsure of what they could say to one another. The atmosphere seemed unusually heavy, full with unsaid words that neither of them could find the courage to say. It was never usually like this, they were both sure. When had things changed between them?

After another couple of minutes of quiet, Arthur took to staring dazedly out of the window. Matthew watched him, formulating excuses as to why he had come, and why he needed to go home.

'It always makes me think…' Arthur's voice was so quiet that Matthew almost missed it.

'Hm?' he questioned.

Arthur looked back at him, surprised. 'Oh, sorry,' he flushed lightly. 'I was thinking aloud.'

Matthew felt strangely disappointed. 'Oh.'

Arthur hesitated for a moment. 'The snow,' he said, 'it always makes me think of you.' He looked slightly uncomfortable, as if he had just admitted a dark secret.

Matthew forced a laugh. 'Why? Because my place is so snowy?'

'No…' Arthur looked away, but when he turned his gaze back to the younger man, he was smiling slightly. 'It reminds me of that time when you were a child. There was that terrible snowstorm- the worst you and I had ever seen. I remember… the house shook, and the windows rattled, and the wind howled late into the night. It was truly awful. And then, there was this little sound, like a tiny little pitter-patter. I remember sitting up in bed, and there you were, all wide, teary eyes and down-turned mouth, standing in my doorway. You looked so frightened and fragile that all I wanted to do was make the weather go away.

'At that time, I thought that you hated me for taking you away from Francis,' Arthur smiled self-depreciatingly. 'You were always so quiet around me that I thought that you were blaming me, so I didn't really know how to make you feel better. All I could think of doing was holding up the blanket for you,' he paused to chuckle, a genuine, fond sound. 'And I couldn't believe the way that you shot across the floor and dived in next to me. You clung onto my shirt and buried your face into my chest, and all I wanted in that moment was, despite how things were between Francis and I, to keep you as close to me as I possibly could.'

'Wha- what?' Words failed Matthew. He remembered that night well. Arthur had seemed so big and so cold at the time that he'd been scared of going to him for comfort. When he had gone to the other's room late in the night, he had entirely expected to be turned away, and even when the elder invited him into his bed, he had felt like he was being a nuisance and a burden. 'Come now, Arthur, I was just being a pesky little kid.' He tried to sound casual about it, part of him wanting Arthur to agree with him, while part of him ached with the thought that he might.

Arthur looked surprised. 'No you weren't.' He gave an embarrassed sort of smile. 'Even _I_ found it slightly scary. Having you come in was… well it was _nice_. It gave me something to take my mind off the weather, and it gave me hope that one day you could be as fond of me as you were of Francis.'

'Of course I was!' he blurted. He blushed when Arthur looked over at him in surprise over his outburst. The other man just didn't seem to _get_ it. Why had he been so worried about Matthew's feelings towards Francis? Sure the man had been there in his earliest memories, and sure, he had left a lasting impression on his life. A part of him had always longed for Francis, yes, but for a very long time the most important man in his life had been the man sitting in front of him. At times he hadn't treated him well, and at times he had hurt him. He cared about Alfred more than he had ever cared about _him_, and he hadn't been there every time that he had needed him. And yet…

And yet as Matthew had grown older, he had started to appreciate how hard it had been for Arthur to look after him. There had been such a large ocean between them, and Europe had always been in a perpetual state of war. In time, it had made Matthew want to grow stronger. He had wanted to relieve Arthur of the burden of looking after him, living in the hope that one day he could stand beside him as a trusted ally and equal peer. He took Arthur's teachings to heart, concentrating on patience and diplomacy, even as Alfred had rebelled, urging him to join him in seeking freedom. At that time, Matthew had known that he had not been ready. He had hoped that Alfred would see that too, though, as he had stood against him some tiny part of him had hoped that he would break free, because it meant then that maybe he wouldn't be the centre of attention for once. Upon seeing the hurt and betrayal in Arthur's eyes, he had quietly wished that he could be the one that Arthur turned to in his time of need. That he could be the focus of the other man's attention.

'Arthur, I…' he honestly didn't know what to say. He could never say these kind of things out loud. Arthur was too stoic, too _English_. He didn't talk about feelings, and to do so would just embarrass the both of them.

'I always thought that you resented me, you know. Especially after Alfred…' he shook his head, as if to clear it. 'I grew too clingy to you at that time. I know that now, but I was terrified that I was going to lose you too,' he muttered, before shaking himself suddenly. 'Ah, ignore me, lad. This fever's making me ramble on like an old woman. Do you want some more tea?'

Matthew stood up. 'I'll make it,' he said softly.

'I'm not an invalid!' Arthur snapped, looking offended.

For some strange reason, Matthew found himself smiling. 'I know _that_, Arthur. I'm offering.'

The elder man continued to look indignant for a moment, before he sniffed and looked away. 'Fine. Thank you.'

The Canadian disappeared from the room, leaving Arthur enough time to collect himself. He was feeling pretty drained, and if that wasn't bad enough he was getting _emotional_. God. He detested feeling ill.

Still… Matthew was probably the only person in the entire world who he could let his guard down around, and at least it wasn't as bad as the time when he was delirious and had started being _nice_ to Francis and Alfred.

He was still grimacing over that particular memory when Matthew walked in.

'Are you okay?' The Canadian asked.

Arthur blinked up at him, eyes coming back into focus. He found the other standing over him, offering him a steaming mug. 'Sorry, I was in another world there.' He took the mug and brought it to his lips, puffing once before taking a sip. 'You always make such good tea,' he nodded in approval as Matthew sat down.

Matthew blushed and hid his face behind his own mug. Coming from Arthur, that was _quite_ the compliment.

Upon closer inspection, the elder man was beginning to look tired. Matthew bit back the desire to ask him if he was okay. It would probably hurt his pride and besides, Matthew knew full well that he _would_ be okay soon enough. The bossy, strict, proud man that he knew and loved would be back in no time, and the world would be back to normal.

'Will you be staying the night?' Arthur said suddenly.

'If you want me to,' Matthew replied.

'Of course I do!' The both blushed at Arthur's words- Arthur in mortification, and Matthew in surprise. 'What I mean is,' he hurried to correct himself, looking away in embarrassment. 'You're more than welcome to, if you want.'

'Are you sure you don't mind?' The Canadian asked, still unsure.

'Why would I mind?' Arthur said, brows furrowing in confusion. 'I can't think of anyone I'd rather spend a snowy evening inside with.'

'Alfred?' The word left his mouth before he could stop it. He winced when Arthur cocked his head to one side in confusion.

'Alfred?' he echoed.

'Well… yeah, I mean, he's done a lot to make you proud, right? And he's a lot more fun than I am. I'm sure you'd much rather be spending the evening with him rather than me- not that I can blame you, of course.' He pushed his glasses further up in an effort to disguise how flustered he'd become. 'And not that I'm saying that I would rather him be here, because I'm happy to be. It's just that he's more interesting, I'm sure.'

Arthur was looking back at him as if he'd just spoken an alien language and he was trying to make sense of it all. Matthew wanted to shrink back into the chair, unable to believe that he had just blurted all of that crap out. God only knew what Arthur thought of him _now._ A blabbering fool, most likely.

And then Arthur smiled. It was a small smile, but he seemed slightly amused nonetheless. 'Interesting?' he said. 'Have you heard half of the rubbish he comes out with? Especially in regards to football.'

Matthew felt his mouth drop open.

'And fun?' he continued. 'Excitable more like. And he acts like a spoilt brat when he doesn't get his way. Oh, his heart's in the right place, but sometimes I just want to smack him around the back of the head and tell him to be quiet.' He added the last part with a wicked little smile.

Despite the worry twisting his stomach, Matthew found himself laughing. 'Yeah, he's a good friend, but he can be rather demanding at times,' he agreed.

Arthur's smile softened and he waited until the other had quieted before he spoke up again. 'Alfred has done a lot to make me proud, Matthew- a Hell of a lot. That doesn't mean that he doesn't drive me up the wall, mind you, but he's certainly done well for himself… but then, so have you.'

Matthew forced a smile. 'You don't have to say that.'

'I don't _have_ to say anything,' Arthur corrected him with a frown. 'So what I do choose to say is –the vast majority of the time- the absolute truth.' His apparent irritation faded and he looked upon the Canadian with a soft, unguarded expression. 'Matthew just look at how much you've managed to achieve. You're one of the strongest countries in the world, you have one of the highest standards of living, you have one of the best records on human rights and equal treatment, you have a low crime rate, and you're internationally respected for your skills in diplomacy and environmentalism. You're patient and willing to listen, and though you can be a bit of a pushover at times, you're gentle- all things that the world is going to need in the future. And you've done all of this all by yourself. All I could do was help you build the foundations, and you were patient enough to trust me to do that, even though at times I hadn't done the best thing for you, and even when you saw Alfred running around all on his own doing whatever he wanted to.

'You really earned your independence, Matthew. Everything you've managed to achieve since then was entirely your own doing, so you should be immensely proud of that.' At that, Arthur raised the mug to his lips and gulped down his tea.

Matthew watched him with wide eyes, and a bright blush on his cheeks, unable to think of any sort of response. Matthew knew all of that, and he _was_ proud of it- _damn_ proud, but to hear it from someone else, to hear it from Arthur… Arthur he…

Arthur rose to his feet, waving his now empty mug when Matthew's attention jolted towards him. He gave him an embarrassed sort of smile and made to walk towards the door, presumably to wash up his cup, or make another cup of tea.

He paused however, as he drew alongside the armchair that Matthew was sitting in. Hesitating for just a moment, Arthur raised his free hand to place it gently upon Matthew's head. 'I _am_ proud of you, Mattie. I'm more proud than words could say.' _You're one thing that I did right._ He added silently as his hand gave Matthew's dark blonde hair a soft, affectionate ruffle. Smiling, he reclaimed his fingers and left the room.

For a few moments, Matthew couldn't move. His heart thudded in his chest, and his cheeks burned. Maybe he was acting like a child, and maybe he was fooling himself, but at that moment he couldn't stop himself from grinning.

'Matthew, do you want me to make you some pancakes?' Arthur called from the kitchen. 'I think I have syrup.'

Matthew laughed.

* * *

I rarely use 'human' names, but "Mattie" is too sweet to pass up on.

* * *


End file.
